


Smile

by KuroDoujinShi



Category: Dissidia: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy II
Genre: And so does WOL, Dancing, I love Firion, M/M, Rambling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroDoujinShi/pseuds/KuroDoujinShi
Summary: He smiles.This was their first time meeting,a first cycle, the compilation of warriors from all of the unknown, and for the first time in The Warrior’s very short memory he remembers being fixated on someone. A face, silver hair in a thin ponytail, bright blue eyes, a certain elegance that was untrained and untamed and yet still so beautiful.And then he said hi, and the Warrior couldn’t begin to figure out what the strange feelings inside his chest and his head were but couldn’t deny that he was curious of them. Willing to pursue them, and therefore pursue him. A wild, unfettered being. An animal, albeit soft and kind, but seeming to have a hidden bite. Poised, ready to attack, but seeming to have no desire.A bite he displayed only in battle, never to his friends.A bite, and then a smile.





	Smile

**Author's Note:**

> *looks around at the severe lack of Warrior of Light/Firion fanworks*
> 
> UGH GUESS I'LL DO EVERYTHING MYSELF
> 
> Admittedly this isn't one of my best works, but I still hope you enjoy it. Happy reading everyone : )
> 
> Also yes I am aware that Firion having memories messes with Dissidia canon but this is fanfiction just let me have this

He smiles.

This was their first time meeting,a first cycle, the compilation of warriors from all of the unknown, and for the first time in The Warrior’s very short memory he remembers being fixated on someone. A face, silver hair in a thin ponytail, bright blue eyes, a certain elegance that was untrained and untamed and yet still so beautiful.

And then he said hi, and the Warrior couldn’t begin to figure out what the strange feelings inside his chest and his head were but couldn’t deny that he was curious of them. Willing to pursue them, and therefore pursue him. A wild, unfettered being. An animal, albeit soft and kind, but seeming to have a hidden bite. Poised, ready to attack, but seeming to have no desire.

A bite he displayed only in battle, never to his friends.

A bite, and then a smile.

As they grow closer, encountering each other through countless cycles, The Warrior finds him learning more about the other, about human beings. About passion, fire, bonds, strength, and community. Something he gains from each of his comrades, of course, but not quite in the same way as this other man.

Firion.

He likes that name.

Firion tells him all about Palamecia and they walk amongst the realms, patrolling. He tells him of revolutions and wild roses. Of fire and daring escapades. His battles and exploits, and a journey both metaphorically and literally through hell. All the friends he’d gained, and lost, and The Warrior begins to understand why he cares so much for the roses and the world, and begins to find himself stopping to stare at flowers as he passes by.

Then they go deeper.

And Firion smiles.

Firion begins to tell him about memories, reluctantly at first. Searching for reciprocation, but The Warrior can give him nothing but the present, and memories to be built upon absence. So he stares at him, and says he has nothing to offer.

So Firion smiles, and says it’s okay. He’ll give him his own.

They spend their next patrols with Firion going beyond the simple pleasantries of battle, and The Warrior learning there was a life beyond it. He begins to wonder if that was why Firion had a name, and he did not. No memories, no name, only a warrior and a never ending fight.

Instead he focuses on the smile. Far less complicated, in the end.

Firion tells him stories of being a child, of his parents. His mother, a kind woman with whom he would tend to gardens and animals, and whom he claimed to look quite a bit like. The Warrior had no basis on which to believe him, but chooses to anyway. He tells him of his father, a man with a loud laugh, who’d taught his son how to look at the world with undying hope.

Then he tells him of friends, something the Warrior had not encountered before the rest of his comrades had joined him as Cosmos’s side. Leon, Guy, and Maria. Sneaking out on moonlit adventures, pullings pranks on neighbors. Childish, yet wonderful adventures. He explains how Guy had been able to speak to gophers, and the Warrior can’t help but chuckle. He explains how Maria and him once found and cared for an injured cat without telling their parents, and the Warrior can’t help but picture a small Firion carrying a cat about as large as he was, and chuckles again at the image.

He confides of the handful on stolen kisses in the moonlit between him and Leon, and the Warrior couldn’t the storm that rose inside him, but chose to ignore it.

He simply focuses on the smile.

Once, Firion tells him about festivals. He’d only been to one as a child, but he remembers it vividly, or at least the emotion. The blur of bright, blinding lights, the loud, joyous music, running through the streets with his friends. Dancing.

The Warrior cocks his wonders, and wonders what it is to dance. Firion says it’s like fighting, but there is no clashing, no wounds, no death. The Warrior does not understand, but Firion says it’s okay. He’ll show him.

He smiles, and it is in a meadow of wildflowers that the Warrior learns how to dance.

They continue in a manner very similar to a dance, and the Warrior begins to hesitate at the thought of fighting Firion. The man, a boy barely a man, was caught in an endless cycle of violence with the same level of choice in this matter the Warrior had. This wasn’t like his world, a world of roses and fire, where people choose to rise up against the powers that be. Where people choose to fight, to dance.

They get caught in a fight. There’s two of them, three of the others. Of Chaos’s miscreants. A clown, a one-winged warrior with an obnoxiously long sword, and a man with hair like horns that makes Firion stop. The Warrior can hear his breath falter, and he frowns.

They fight, and for a good while, it looks as though they will win. The Warrior fights the man with one wing, and he can see Firion dueling the clown from the corner of his eye. The man was taking a beating, but he was surviving. Holding his own, possibly even winning.

It is too late by the time he realizes they’d both been surrounded by traps.

The clown and the angel run away, and for a brief moment the Warrior believes they’ve won. Firion is at his side, but he looks wary. They look in circles, and they are surrounded by glowing orbs. The orbs encroach, hit, and the Warrior feels an electrocuting pain like none other. He sees a glow beneath him, and in the briefness of a second accepts that he is about to die.

Then he is on his stomach, having been knocked to the side onto the ground. He looks back, and in his place is Firion, a glowing sigil at his feets. Above him amasses a cloud of fire, preparing to rain down a hell, and Firion cannot move, the Warrior cannot move. A sigil for one, and unprecedented shock and horror from the other. Two things he should not be able to feel.

Their eyes meet before the fire, and Firion smiles.

Before he knows it, the Warrior is screaming. In anguish, in rage, in horror? He doesn't know. But he is screaming as he watches, and he launches himself at his new found opponent, focused now only on destroying his enemy. He looks like and feels like a wild animal, a raging inferno. But his target gets away, slipping through a portal before he has the satisfaction of landing a killing blow.

He does not return to the spot until much later on. He had placed a small marker where it happened, a sigil for him to return to. He does not know how many cycles it will take for Firion to return. He does not know if Firion will ever return. If he does, it won’t be the same Firion. That could be nice though.

How many people have the opportunity to become familiar with someone twice?

He stares down at the marker. It is small, somewhat ornate, and yet still humble and inviting. Just like him. The Warrior feels as though he’s done a good job, though he knows he’d rather have not had to do the job at all. As he places a rose where the marker lays, he thinks back, and for the first time in his existence truly remembers. He remembers dancing amongst flowers, small laughter and hidden jealousy, and every memory Firion had gifted him in a time that was, in the end, far too short.

He remembers, and he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tempted to write an actual scene of Firion teaching WOL how to dance


End file.
